


When the Floods Roll Back

by rashaka



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: F/M, Metaphor, Metaphors, Oral Sex, Shameless Smut, like it's all the same goddamn metaphor, metaphor so hard, much metaphors, what can i say? it's my favorite
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-03
Updated: 2013-08-03
Packaged: 2017-12-22 07:09:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,831
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/910360
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rashaka/pseuds/rashaka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The texture of his scruff as he kissed his way down her stomach was a new experience, and as Lydia had explained to her a hundred times: never discourage a guy when his head is past your navel.</p>
            </blockquote>





	When the Floods Roll Back

**Author's Note:**

> For anon, I hope this answers your request. Lyrics, "Drive" by Melissa Ferrick.  
> Comments are valued and beloved!

 

 

__

  
_your fingers are trembling_  
_and your heart is heavy and red_  
_and your head is bent back_  
_and your back is arched_  
_my hand is under there_ ,  _holding you up_  
  
  


 

"I thought we agreed this was a mistake," Derek muttered, peeling her wet jacket off her shoulders as her shivering fingers fumbled with the zipper. Allison yanked at the sleeves and leaned her forehead against his collarbone for balance. Her hair was soaked, her clothes were a damp mess, and Derek's skin felt warm to the touch.

"We already made the mistake," she reasoned, and shimmied out of her skirt. Derek was shirtless even before she'd come up the spiral staircase of his loft, so she had free view of him as she stripped. When she'd pushed open the door he'd looked up from his small work desk, both puzzled and on edge at the sight of her. As their eyes met he'd risen from the chair; navy blue sweatpants hung off his defined hip bones and a book slipped from his hands.

Now those rough hands skimmed over her wet skin, and Allison gritted her teeth as she said, "What's one more gonna do? Think of it as getting it out of our system."

Derek shook his head with a low snort. When she was down to her bra and panties he tugged her close into his arms, heedless of the water droplets that flung from her hair and dripped in runnels down her back. The rain storm pummeled his windows, a background racket that seemed to isolate the sound of their breathing rather than hide it.

"No," rebuked Derek quietly, "That's not how sex works." Even whispered into her collar bone it sounded like a warning as much as a riposte.

Allison scoffed, "Yeah, because Derek Hale is the expert on sexual relationships." He hesitated, his arms still wrapping her torso flush to his, and she cursed at herself for being needlessly cruel. With their faces intimate enough to share the same air, Derek watched her for a thoughtful, dragging minute. She licked her lips, about to apologize, when a sly grin replaced his sensitive expression. It spread from one corner of his mouth to the other until Allison was looking at rows of white teeth under a predator's smile.

"I'm good at some things," he offered, and goosebumps shuddered to life down her arms. Angry Derek, she could handle. Sad Derek was practically a daily occurrence. She'd observed him focused and grumpy and tired; once she'd even witnessed him in what passed for cheerful. Yet in all the meetings and the fights and the long arguments Allison had never seen this look of smug confidence cross his face before—as if the cards had been dealt between them and he got blackjack before she'd even looked at her hand.

Knowing it was her turn, that she had to say something, she threw out a casual, "Yeah, right." Derek tapped his forehead against hers, their mouths inches apart. His smile was grew more irritating the longer she knew it was there. She added lamely, "Like what?"

"The best thing," he murmured to her ear, and then Allison almost yelped as he grabbed under her thighs and picked her up. With her legs suddenly hooked around his waist to keep balance, he walked them both unsteadily toward the mattress.

She kept her arms slung around his neck when he laid her down, his weight settling over them and her own fingers crinkling through his hair. The perpetual shadow on his face was almost a full beard now, and Allison was grateful for the softness where weeks before his skin had been sandpaper. The kiss that followed was fervent but soft—ever so much softer than the first night. That had been a lust of teeth and tongue under the veneer of aggression; this time Derek moved his lips over hers as if he could coax Allison out of her body and into his own.

With a scowl, she yanked his face away by his hair and snapped, "What do you think you're doing?"

"Just shut up," leered Derek, twisting his neck to knock her hand away. "And close your eyes." The last things Allison saw before her eyes obediently slipped shut was his smirk as he ducked below her breasts, and a brief flash of red disappearing into cool green eyes.

Darkness freed her to the feel of his hands and mouth, a huge mistake. It put her in his power. In petty recalcitrance she almost opened them again, but the texture of his scruff as he kissed his way down her stomach was a new experience, and as Lydia had explained to her a hundred times: never discourage a guy when his head is past your navel. Allison kept her eyes shut, leaned her back on the rain-dampened pillow, and tried to figure out what to do with her hands.

She followed his progress by the heat of his lips: first on her stomach, then on her left hip, eventually a line of kisses across her panties. Large, warm palms slid along her thighs and tugged on the underwear, pulling it down while his mouth dropped to the skin he'd just exposed. Allison's breath sped up, and she raised her pelvis to meet the warmth it promised. She let out a breathy gasp, eyes pressed tightly shut, and she heard Derek chuckle as he gripped her legs and pressed them open against the mattress.

Then his mouth was on her, and Allison inhaled so fast it was dizzying.

Derek's onslaught was swift and confident. He slid his warm tongue between her folds and then over her clit, moving in a shifting pattern that seemed to touch all her sensitive areas at once. When her body responded by pushing off the bed to meet him, Derek slipped his tongue as far as he could inside her core. He curled and licked until Allison emitting a low keening sound. He hadn't been an awkward teenage boy in a long time, and there was no hesitation in the way he fucked her with his tongue. He dove into the deep end and Allison gasped for oxygen above him. When he came up it wasn't for air, but to attach his mouth to the bead of her sex and consume her there as well.

"Shit," she breathed, and as if he heard her, he sucked harder on her clit, adding his tongue underneath in a repetitive movement that made her stomach tighten and her legs kick out involuntarily. Allison was lost, swimming in the darkness and the touch. Her back arched up to meet the pressure of his mouth and she dragged her nails along the sheets of his bed, unable to find an anchor or purchase.

Time must have passed for Allison, but when she tried to measure it by the distant tick of his wall clock she was thrown off by the pitter-patter of rain on the windows. It was hard to keep her senses with her eyes still shut and her body a whirlpool under Derek's tongue. He played at biting her, a soft stroke of teeth over her flesh, and a moan escaped Allison's strained control. The sound could have been a whispered _more_ or it could have been some guttural utterance from a time before language, before rules or boyfriends or the impropriety of being an eighteen-year-old hunter in a werewolf's apartment while he eats her out until she squirms and whimpers.

"Eyes closed," he warned, lifting his mouth momentarily. The cessation of stimulus was close to painful when she was already so desperately near the pinnacle, and his threat worked: Allison squeezed her eyes shut tighter and soundlessly begged for him to continue. She mouthed the words _more, please, Derek, please_ , but something held her back from saying them aloud.

Instead of going back to her sex directly, he mouthed the soft skin around her opening. From the crease of her hip to the base of pink, flushed channel. His short beard brushed over her own hair, and if Allison had been capable of full thought she'd have worried over the mess. She was too far gone for inhibitions now; Derek had seen to that. While she waited in the darkness for him to return his talents to her sensitive clit, he rubbed his hands closer in slow circles until Allison felt two long, large digits plunge inside her.

In her surprise, she arched off the bed, and Derek's other hand immediately braced against her stomach. With a distracted snap Allison knocked the restricting palm from her abdomen, and brought it up to cup her breasts instead. Obliging, Derek kept it there, caressing and massaging while his busier hand began to pump fingers in and out of Allison. He ran them along the inside top of her channel, as if to scrape away any part of her still cogent and sane. His speed picked up in time with her panting breaths until Allison felt as if she drowned in her effort to catch hold of every dizzying point of contact.

Derek's hands were hot, fast: soft destruction taking apart the most vulnerable part of her. Beneath her head the pillowcase was wet from her damp hair, and his sheets were smooth where she tried and failed to grab them. Grabbing the bars of the headboard would be a concession, as much as if she were to touch the arms that held her, and she wasn't prepared to give him that. She could do this without help, ride out the cresting tide as if it were proof to both of them that nothing he could do would conquer her. She was a master of her body, the keeper of her physical senses, and he wouldn't leave this as the winner.

His fingers twisted inside her and without warning his thumb scraped her clit; Allison lost herself in the sea.

"Come on," he encouraged as she inched closer to screaming. " _Come on_ , Allison."

"Fuck—off—" she gasped, and despite herself it came out in a shriek.

His spoke his soft reply into the crease of her leg and her pelvis: "It's _your_ turn right now, Allison," and how she hated the sound of her name while his fingers moved inside her. "Let it go, you're almost there."

The words floated to her in the swirling, bucking darkness: he was right. Almost there. She needed something, one final thing, and as she chased it down through the rivers in her blood, the swell rising and falling in her chest, Allison opened her eyes.

The sight of him almost undid her. Derek crouched between the valley of her legs, and as his bright gaze met hers in the dim light of the bedroom he lowered his head, closed his own eyes, and tongued her again.

The rain stopped, Allison arced, and her body broke like a wave on the rocky shore.


End file.
